Bluetide

Bluetide tells, in photographs and text, about the power of the sea and its impact on the people in the little north-Portuguese fishing village ApÃºlia. The village is situated at the Western coast of Europe, which is hit by rough winter storms every year, when sand masses are carried away with the waves. Several houses had already fallen into the sea, and after a couple of years, the whole fishermen community of ApÃºlia, Cedobém, would be buried in the Atlantic Ocean.

The inhabitants of Cedobém lived in a close relationship to nature - a relation that is alien to most of the people in Europe. The book was made in the period of 1995-97 and published in the Night of Arts 1997 at the INTO gallery.

Bluetide/Maréazul

Text from the book by Cia Rinne (English/Portuguese)

It was not like this before. It began ten years ago. The moon was leading the waves closer to the village; in four years, 300 feet of the coast had disappeared. AntÃ³nio José often bicycled to the shore to see how far the sea had come; then, the first houses fell. The village is situated on one of the most threatened coasts of Europe, one that is difficult to protect. The sand is moving, unstable. Under the waves, nothing stays forever.

Maria Fernanda drives a donkey carriage across the fields in the morning. She goes to work on her land where she plants potatoes, lettuce, and carrots. The white laundry is hanging in the wind between the rooftops. The dogs are sleeping in the sand next to the old boats, of which the names have bleached away. Everything is salty from the sea. The mornings are dim and close; day opens and night closes with the fog.

The weather, the wind, the rain. They are the ones that rule. The everyday deals with the sea, with existing at the sea. Will there be more storms? Can we go out fishing tomorrow? We worked until the day before yesterday, but today the weather is worse; wind, rain, and the rough sea. The sea has been difficult for our lives lately. The ramp that had sand on both sides does not have any on either of them anymore. The storm brought the evil with it. The windmill that was in the South of the dunes fell; the dunes were destroyed. Half of the castle broke off one night; foam is flying through the air. In AntÃ³nio’s house, there are birds singing in small cages. His son Daniel takes a bath on the kitchen floor while the vapour fills the dim room. Daniel’s cousin Sofia lives next door. They are often together with their grandmother Maria Fernanda. Their favourite walk is to the sea.

Clemente built a protective wall consisting of pillars, rocks, and sacks filled with sand to prevent the waves from breaking the dunes. After some stormy nights, the sand behind the pillars is gone. They stay alone, as a symbol of the human struggle against the powers of nature.

Many fishers drown in the wild waves. The women pray at the coast when their husbands do not return from the sea. Manuel’s boat capsized twice, but he managed to swim back to the shore. I am afraid of the sea, but it is not for that reason that I will stop liking it. For me, the sea it the most wonderful thing there is in the world. He had already been fishing while still in his mother’s womb. She was in the boat together with his father. Sometimes, I woke up during the night. I could not wait to come out on the sea again. Still, he tells his son not to become a fisher since there is no future in it.

The nets are drying in long rows in the grey shacks; the light that falls in through the splits between the weather-beaten planks spreads in the dusty air. There is a smell of seaweed, fish, and rotten wood; the soft murmur of pigeons comes from the gloomy corner under the roof. Arcelina, the oldest in the village, is walking along the coast with her bent stick.

I am afraid of the sea, but it is not for that reason that I will stop liking it.

Da Silva is gathering oranges and driftwood, brought by the sea from Africa and other places. In wintertime, he lights a fire in the kitchen, and smokes sausages until they are black. It is cold, and there is no heating in the house. The oranges are sandy and taste bitter. He pours red wine from a little can; there are mussels on the wall. He has grown together with his landscape.

After the storm bottles pencils shoes; everything the sea brings with it.